The Oathbreaker
by Morning Mist
Summary: What one man, beyond any chance of redemption, would do for love-- for a woman he knew he could never hope to see again. Chapter 2: Ellen Reed, Anvad Rei, and a snowstorm with a ridiculous reputation.
1. Chapter One

Oathbreaker  
  
Disclaimer: So, I don't own Fire Emblem. Is anyone really surprised? ^_^  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Two men sat thirty feet from each other at opposite ends of a long dining table.  
  
The one, Anvad Rei. One of his many, many names.  
  
--Born in Etruria.  
  
The other, Ephidel. His only name.  
  
--Born in Hell.  
  
Anvad Rei took up a knife and fork and sliced through a thick slab of meat on his plate, watching the flesh fall away at his touch. Effortless and silent. The only sound that dared to disturb the immense granite room was that of two serrated knives cutting through fibers. Interesting sounds, if you knew what to listen for.  
  
The figure opposite hunched over his plate, unmoving except for his relentlessly serene golden eyes. Rei lifted the fork to his mouth and bit firmly.  
  
Very few men had ever unnerved Anvad Rei. Only one woman had ever defied him. None had ever lifted a blade against him and lived—his master had annihilated any possibility of failure. Now, his life was driven by hate, passion, and desperation, a disposition he found useful as a killer.  
  
But this morph could unnerve a rock with a glance.  
  
Of course, Rei might easily put a knife through one of those snakelike eyes in an instant. Thirty feet was no distance at all for a well-balanced cutting utensil. However, neither was there any guarantee that the assassin would not be burned to a neat pile of ash before the weapon reached its target. The balance of power in this room was hardly one-sided.  
  
Surprisingly, it was a grudging, mutual appreciation for the other's power that allowed each man to dine in relative peace. Well—that, and an oath: one person's life spared in exchange for limitless others destroyed.  
  
Naturally the oath was secondary in importance. The assassin twisted his mouth in a wry smile. He was already an oathbreaker anyway, three times over.  
  
Ephidel suddenly dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and chose that moment to rise deliberately from his chair, obviously favoring his left leg. The morph dragged it behind without apology as he exited the room in silence. Rei remained seated for a full minute, knowing it would take just that long for Ephidel to make it down the hall. Finally he got up. He would be expected.  
  
His employer greeted him from the center of the library floor, enveloped in a haze of green smoke from the ritual fire and holding a small, crescent- shaped blade.  
  
Rei ignored his salutation. "You waste time. Why do you require my presence?"  
  
Ephidel ran his hands caressingly over the dagger's hilt and said nothing.  
  
"I would like an explanation. I have unfinished business waiting."  
  
The morph eyed him, lips pulling back to show perfect white teeth. "In a moment," he said quietly, "that business will become just as inconsequential to you as it is to me. Be patient."  
  
Rei forced his hands to stay where they were and kept his voice level. "You forget that I am not patient."  
  
"Mm. Would you like to hear what I have to say, or would you like to argue? It is eleven at night."  
  
"My point."  
  
"Of course. Anvad—yes, it is Anvad they call you now, isn't it? How strange."  
  
The assassin crossed his arms. Ephidel merely raised an eyebrow and continued.  
  
"Well, Anvad Rei, I have here in my hands something very dangerous. Very powerful. Would you like to see?"  
  
Rei looked at it. It was a peculiar weapon. The short, curved blade appeared to be forged of silver, and the worn, scratched hilt looked like ebony. Strange, he thought, to use wood in the making of a dagger. Though the hilt was dark and covered in a mass of ancient writing, any assassin could easily identify the even darker splotches mottling its surface. Blood.  
  
His mouth settled into a thin line, already anticipating the morph's next words. "I would not use it. It is unconventional."  
  
The lie surprised even himself. Nothing was unconventional to Anvad Rei—anything, even a toothpick or a hairpin, would serve equally well as an instrument of death.  
  
But he had not, apparently, surprised Ephidel. "Why do you lie, Anvad?" the morph whispered to him, the corner of his mouth quirking knowingly. "How could the assassin fear such a small thing?"  
  
"I fear nothing," the assassin replied. Another lie. "I prefer to use my own weapons."  
  
"Ah. But you have no choice, you know. I make your choices for you."  
  
Rei paused. "Remember the oath."  
  
"I am tired. I have no wish to re-argue a moot point."  
  
"Then give me my orders."  
  
"Yes, yes. Of course. Your orders." Ephidel cleared his throat. "Anvad Rei, you will take this blade."  
  
The assassin's body stiffened.  
  
"You will take this blade to Ilia. There, just on the southeast border, you will find a small village where lives a man—a druid by the name of Canas—and his wife, a powerful sage. The woman will be your primary target. However, Anvad," he added, almost as an afterthought, "if the druid poses any resistance, you will not hesitate to take him down as well."  
  
Rei opened his mouth and shut it again, clenching his teeth with considerable effort.  
  
...Her face appeared before him in his mind's eye. Exactly as he had last seen it. Happy. Carefree. Blue eyes dancing with joy as he promised to stay near her always.  
  
He set his jaw. The Angel of Death would fulfill at least half of his oath to the girl he loved. He would protect her, with his life.  
  
Such as it was, anyway.  
  
He reached out his hand for the dark blade and heard himself respond.  
  
"I have received my orders. I will do my duty."  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 


	2. Chapter Two

Oathbreaker—Chapter Two  
  
Note: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! ^_^  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
It was an abnormally dark evening. The stars were doused, the moon was hidden, and a chill wind paced uneasily back and forth in the valley, as if uncertain which way it meant to go. Perfect weather, really.  
  
Canas adjusted his spectacles to peer more closely at the tombstone nearest to him.  
  
--Ellen Reed. Beloved wife, mother of two, enemy of none. Died with honor.—  
  
Keeping his eyes on the inscription, the druid reached within the folds of his cloak and procured a special tome he reserved only for these occasional haunts in the cemetery. His hands shook as he flipped to a well-worn page and chanted a few breathy syllables without even looking. The wind in the valley paused to listen.  
  
"Essence of life, greatness of spirit— joy, vitality, beauty, future, doom. Voice of winds, purity of light; strength of earth, passion of water; heart of fire ... Come forth, and live!"  
  
The only response was the dull thud of dusty pages. Canas flinched.  
  
"Repeat after me," a light, intense voice commanded beside him. "I will never— oh, please! Just say it, Canas!"  
  
"I will never..."  
  
"I will never interfere with my wife's business again."  
  
The druid hung his head. "I will never interfere with my wife's business again. Calina, I—"  
  
"I will destroy this abominable magic tome immediately when I get home," she interrupted him. "Say it."  
  
"But, Calina!" he pleaded.  
  
"Say it!"  
  
"I will destroy this magic tome—"  
  
"Abominable magic tome, you mean."  
  
"I will destroy this abominable magic tome immediately when I get home. But, oh, Calina! Are you sure? It's just so—"  
  
Calina waved her hand sharply. "One more thing: I will leave the matters of anima, to anima. Say it."  
  
Canas widened his eyes and fingered the spectacles slipping off of his nose. "Calina! Surely you don't mean—"  
  
"You know what I mean, and I mean it. Repeat! 'I will leave the matters of anima...'"  
  
"I," he sighed heavily, spitting out each distasteful word, "will leave the matters of anima, to anima. Dearest, my heart— why do you do this to me? Just this once? You know I mean no harm!"  
  
"Oh, Canas," his love murmured, letting her eyes assume their customary softness. "Canas, I know, and I'm sorry. Really I am. But harm... it comes whether you invite it or not."  
  
The druid hastily pushed up his spectacles once more and gathered Calina's slight form to himself. "I won't let anything happen to—to you, you know. I only wished to learn... to know..."  
  
"But it's not right!" the young woman protested, burying her face in his robe and twining her arms around him. "Canas, this has to stop! It has to stop, now! This is the second time this week I've caught you doing this. And you promised, Canas! You promised not to do this anymore! Why... why did you lie to me?"  
  
He furrowed his brow and cursed himself as the restless wind fluttered through the pages of the magic tome—the abominable magic tome—in his hand. "I—I didn't mean to... to hurt you... but I—you know how I am, dearest! I am a scholar! This thirst within me, for knowledge—it is insatiable! I can't help it! I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Sweetheart, say something. I'm sorry. I'll try not to—"  
  
"Try isn't good enough! You don't understand, do you? You don't see—you never see—how dangerous this is! Even I— a sage— even I can't bring myself to do what you've been doing for the past hideous months! And, Canas," she whimpered against his chest, "it's cold out. I worry about you. It's winter now. You could catch a fever. Then what would I do? I love you— I don't want anything to happen to you. And I don't want you to turn out like... like..."  
  
"Like them." It was a monotone statement neither wished to embellish.  
  
"Like them," she repeated, shivering in the rising chill. "You're still yourself. You're still my scholar, my Canas. You're still just a person. I need you to... you need to stay that way."  
  
"I... I know. But this—" he couldn't help but ask—"how can this possibly hurt me? Anima is not the elder arts! It is beauty! It is life! It is everything that you, my Calina, are made of! Why should I refrain from embracing it?"  
  
Slender hands pushed him away firmly. "Canas... what would your mother say?"  
  
He wrinkled his nose—Calina always used this line as her final, crushing blow. Most every argument ended this way. "Yes! I know, I know!" he gave in at last, defeated. "I know what she would say! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said it—I'm sorry. I will not interfere. I will leave the business of anima, to anima. I will destroy the abominable magic tome. I will defer to your wishes. Only—do not be angry with me, sweetheart. I am... I am so ashamed."  
  
His wife collapsed against him. "I'm not angry," her voice quivered.  
  
"Then what is it?"  
  
"I..."  
  
"Tell me," he prodded.  
  
"I'm just... just... I'm just overreacting, that's all. Canas," she declared, straightening and rubbing her eyes on her sleeve, "let's go home. You should put that book in the fire as soon as possible."  
  
"Yes," he agreed mournfully. "I suppose I should."  
  
Their walk home was a dreary one. Gone was Canas's earlier euphoria from the cemetery—the darkness held no joy for him any more. By now the wind had decided on a direction; it fled down the mountainside and invaded the valley, crashing through the leafless trees and bringing the blood to their cold faces.  
  
And the night was cold. The country of Ilia was a bona-fide desert, but not in the same sense as the Nabata. Rather, it was a desert of frigid days and bone-chilling nights, a region where the summers were coolly polite, at best, and the winters were mercilessly harsh. Of course, the area was quite a paradise for a druid and a sage. Ilia was home to a veritable treasure trove of arcane knowledge, which had been preserved in the hearsay and tradition of the local peasant villages for centuries. Canas and Calina lived in one such village themselves, and they now bent all their energies towards making it there before the gathering storm.  
  
Calina momentarily removed the veil she had tied over her eyes and took a good look around.  
  
"I wish I had brought my warp staff with me," the sage muttered.  
  
"What!" shouted Canas, struggling to hear her over the rising wind. "What did you say?"  
  
"Nothing!" she shouted back.  
  
"All right!"  
  
They continued on. Snow began to fall like sheets drying on a clothes line, billowing and tugging at their pins. The wind raised its scream to an irrational, temper-tantrum pitch. After a few minutes of shivering, Canas raised his voice again.  
  
"We should do something, Calina! The village is short of coal!"  
  
"We should!"  
  
He paused and tugged his robes closer around himself. "What should we do?" he called.  
  
"Something!"  
  
The druid pushed his spectacles up and glanced at the woman underneath his arm. Calina's face was pale and flushed, and her lips were blue. Her normally bright, sparkling eyes were dull with cold and fatigue. She leaned heavily on his shoulder.  
  
"Calina!" he called into her ear. "Calina! Are you well?"  
  
She didn't reply. Worried, Canas procured a Mend staff and let its magic wash over her. It would not cure fatigue; its only purpose was for physical wounds. But perhaps it would refresh her somewhat. If anything, she looked happier from his attention.  
  
"Thank you!" she shouted, and coughed.  
  
"You're welcome!"  
  
They fell silent and trudged on. The druid's worry increased with each heavy step; snow had begun to accumulate in droves several inches deep, in only a few minutes.  
  
"We need to help the village! The local lord never gave them their next shipment of coal, remember?" he called again.  
  
Calina nodded sleepily. "Absolutely!"  
  
"We need to stop the snowstorm! Niime, and our son—they could be in trouble! Calina! Wake up, Calina!"  
  
The young sage blinked several times as she stumbled into a snowdrift. Her husband pulled her up swiftly. "Our son? Niime? We're... in trouble? ...What?"  
  
"You're too cold! We need to do something!" Canas frowned unhappily, dusting the snow off her shoulders even as he shivered himself. "We're all in danger, sweetheart! Wake up!"  
  
A new shadow joined the others that night. A flourish of snow, a flash of a blade, a whirl of an assassin's cloak—  
  
There stood the Angel of Death.  
  
Canas shook the cobwebs off his mind and gave an exclamation of sheer relief. "Jaffar!" he cried, starting towards him.  
  
The shadow stepped forward also.  
  
"Jaffar! We need help! Oh, please—it's Calina—she's dying!" Canas babbled, gesturing frantically towards her. "The snow—the storm—it's too cold! My wife needs to get back to the village! Please, could you please send for help?"  
  
Anvad Rei smiled at the bitter irony and unveiled his crescent blade.  
  
"Duty." 


End file.
